


"A Helping Hand" - Oneshot?

by WritingWithADinosaur



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22563934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingWithADinosaur/pseuds/WritingWithADinosaur
Summary: Key: Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye ColorChunks or lines of text that are in italics means that its (Y/N)’s thoughts.Warnings: Cursing, Violence, Death (Murder Victim), Anxiety, Fears/Phobias (Specifically focusing on sharp objects, bugs/insects, water, and the fear of imperfection), Gunshot, Talk of Suicide, the joys of writing about a serial killer based on fear.Summary: Working a serial killer case hits a bit close to home with the latest victim. Malcolm offers a helping hand.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright & Reader, Malcolm Bright/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	"A Helping Hand" - Oneshot?

**Author's Note:**

> This all started because I tried to think of how Malcolm would handle a situation involving someone who suffers from dermatillomania. This is a bit of a selfish piece because my own anxiety, depression, and ADHD manifest itself in the form of skin picking and biting a lot. 
> 
> Please read the warnings because this is a bit heavy with death and anxiety and fear talk. I do hope that this ends up making you smile though.
> 
> This is not beta-read so please let me know if there are any mistakes!
> 
> If you guys like this story or want this “Scarecrow” killer to be continued, let me know. I already have a little bit of an idea on how to make this into a series. <3

You weren’t a rookie by any means, you have been in law enforcement and a little bit of psychology backgrounds for the last 5 years. But you were the newest member in this part of the NYPD. 

You really didn’t have a choice but to grow with and trust your team with the crazy shit that’s happened over the last few months. Lately, everyone has been going crazy trying over a serial killer dubbed as the “Scarecrow.” He or she took inspiration from the Batman villain and started to prey on people with phobias. 

Malcolm had some theories, but for now, all you knew was the type of person that the killer targeted and no other obvious correlation between the victims. While Gil, JT, and Dani went out for lunch, Malcolm was at his desk going over the file while you found yourself stuck in the big meeting room during your break, staring at the board full of what your team had so far, trying to find _anything_ that had somehow gone overlooked.:

Vic #1 - Omar Klinden. 25 years old. In a relationship, boyfriend’s alibi checked out. Omar was an entomophobe, someone that fears any sort of bug or insect. He was found tied to a chair in a storage unit that had three walls full of different types of bugs in glass cases, a tarantula, a handful of cockroaches, and some flesh-eating bugs on him. Cause of death was strangulation.

Vic #2 - Daphne Stewards. 26 years old. Single. Hydrophobe, someone that fears water. Found hanging above her bathtub full of water. Shallow tubs of water were laid all over the floor, preventing her from walking away if she had somehow gotten the noose from around her neck. Cause of death was hanging.

Vic #3 - Giorgio Lucinta. 33 years old. Single. Aichmophobe, someone that fears needles or pointed objects. Found tied to his dining room table with a multitude of knives, needles, and scissors stuck in the table and hanging from the lamp above the table. Multiple cuts were found over his body. Cause of death was loss of blood. 

The victims didn’t know each other. All three were in therapy for their phobias, but they all saw different therapists. Each body was found in different areas of the city. The only thing connecting them was the fact that before they died, they were tortured by being forced to endure their own personal fears before being murdered. 

_Scarecrow isn’t **physically** taking anything from the victims, which means what they are taking from the victims is **pleasure**. They **enjoy** seeing people in complete and unfiltered fear for their lives. Each murder has shown more and more craftsmanship. They have been taking more and more time to set up something elaborate with each victim. They–_

Before you could keep going, the door behind you opened to Malcolm with a sort of excited smile on his face.

“Gil called. We got a body.”

~~~~

“Victim is Wendy Undurmein. 26 years old. She was an analyst at the Cyrane theater down the road.” Gil gave you the rundown before you even entered the building.

“Cause of death?” You asked while slipping on some gloves, interested to know why you and Malcolm were called. 

“Gunshot wound to the head. It _looks_ like suicide.”

“So then why are we here?” You could hear the slight annoyance in Malcolm’s voice, as if the case wasn’t interesting enough for him. 

Gil just motioned for you to follow him. He lead you through the apartment building and onto the third floor. JT and Dani were in the hallway, talking to a couple who you assumed to be the neighbors of the victim. Behind the normal yellow crime scene tape on the door of apartment 3538 made you realize why Gil called.

Wendy was tied to a chair in what you think to be the dining room, except every piece of furniture was replaced with an excessive amount of mirrors and lights circling and pointing at the chair in the center of the room.

“ _This_ is why I called you in.” Gil steps aside and lets you and Malcolm begin your observations.

You started by looking at the victim, Wendy. She looked younger than 26. Her shaggy bobbed brunette hair framed her delicate facial features. She was most likely wearing what she wore to work that morning. She had been wearing makeup, but you could see where some of it melted away from the tear tracks seen around her eyes and down her cheeks. 

She was tied to a nicer made wood chair, but only by her waist and ankles. _Odd for a supposed suicide victim to tie herself up before shooting herself._ Her head was thrown to the side, from the gunshot wound on her right temple. You follow her right arm down to the floor where the gun would have landed after she shot herself, but there was no gun in sight.

While you were inspecting Wendy, Malcolm was wandering the scene, absorbing everything he could and trying to figure out the meaning of the mirrors and lights or the reason why the rest of the apartment looked normal compared to this single room.

“Where’s the gun?” You peak through a break between a couple of mirrors and find Gil watching Malcolm to make sure he doesn’t mess anything up. He shrugged his shoulders a little bit as he answered you.

“No gun.”

“What do you mean ‘no gun?’ Unless I’m seeing things, she has a bullet hole in her skull.”

“I _mean_ there was no gun found at the scene of the crime.” Gil shifted his gaze to you tilting his head slightly, making it _really_ click as to why you were called. 

“Someone else was here before, during, or after this all happened.” Malcolm piped out the now obvious truth from behind one of the mirrors, inspecting it to see if there was anything odd about it. Dani and JT walked in as he spoke.

“I’m assuming before and during. Right after the gunshot was heard, the neighbors called 911 and reported it. When they came in, it was just Wendy here.”

You panned around the scene, trying to find anything else, but then you realized that no one had mentioned the elephant in the room: The mirrors and lights.

“All of this makes a bit more sense if there was someone else here.” Malcolm motioned to the setup, no one spoke up.

He turned to you as if to ask, “What? You don’t see it?” And you had to admit that you could see some possible things, but you were sure that he had a bigger and more coherent picture in his head. You motioned for him to go on.

“These are set up to make sure that Wendy had nowhere else to look other than at herself. The lights are set up so that virtually no shadows would be cast on any part of her, making _every_ pore, line, and hair visible.” He stood behind the chair with Wendy’s body still tied to it, looking at every mirror to see the different angles. “I gotta say that some of these angles are pretty unflattering.” He paused, thinking out loud. “Maybe that was the point: To show the imperfections.”

“Could also be the reason why she wore so much makeup. To try to hide any blemishes,” Dani spoke up. 

You and Malcolm swapped. Now he was inspecting the victim and you looked at the scene. But you didn’t look at the mirrors, you looked at the rest of the apartment. Everything was in order. The bed was made as if it was a hotel bed, the towels on the towel racks were perfectly hung. She had awards and degrees hung up perfectly aligned on her wall. Showcasing her achievements. 

_Imperfections._ The word kept sticking out in your brain when something clicked: She was trying to prove that she wasn’t a screw up; that she was doing good things and good work. She wanted to be as perfect as she could be. 

As you kept looking and piecing more and more together, Malcolm’s discoveries validated your theory.

“She has small cuts around her fingers as if she was picking or biting at them. Her lips look bitten up too.”

“So? It’s New York and it’s been cold out. Maybe it’s just the weather making her skin dry or somethin’?” JT questioned.

“Check the inside of her cheeks.” You speak up, a bit panicked from the kitchen, finding everything in picturesque form like the rest of the apartment. You had also found the various pills on her counter. One bottle was paroxetine, an SSRI for treating chronic anxiety disorders, making your thoughts race as you realized the possible severity of this case. 

“Excuse me?” Gil spoke up, confused as to where you were going. Malcolm had looked away from Wendy to watch you walk back towards them, noticing small psychological hints that the others wouldn’t. Your eyes were flicking to different parts of Wendy, your breathing was slightly shaky, and you had a look that told him that you were trying to keep your cool while your mind was frantic.

You kept your breathing as controlled as you could, but you felt your chest tightening. You know these signs because you have lived through them. You tried to not focus on your hands while you explained your thought process.

“I think this may be a Scarecrow victim.” 

Gil walked up next to you, you felt yourself starting to nip at the insides of your cheeks as he whispered “Are you sure? This doesn’t look like it fits his profile. We can’t just throw that out in the air without knowing 100%…”

Malcolm was curious but cautious, so he stayed silent as you went on, keeping a close eye on you to see if you were going to be okay. 

“Wendy had anxiety. She–”

“So does most of New York. That doesn’t mean she’s a Scarecrow Vic.” JT quipped.

“Hear her out.” Malcolm defended before giving his attention to you, motioning for you to go on.

“Wendy had anxiety. It could be generalized anxiety disorder, but I think it’s more than just ‘generalized.’ You kept saying imperfections and it made me realize how much she valued perfection… and _feared_ imperfection. The fear of imperfection is called Atelophobia. It also means to fear not being good enough.”

You were visually focusing on Wendy’s body, but as you said “phobia” you saw Gil step away, sigh, and run his hand over his face from the corner of your eye. He, and everyone else in the room, were beginning to believe that this was the work of their serial killer. Malcolm knew about the phobia, but kept listening to see how far you could explain before needing help.

“She has her proudest achievements hanging perfectly on her wall to try to validate herself. Her lips are chewed up and there are signs of permanent damage at the skin around her fingers where they’ve been continuously picked at for an extended period of time.” 

You subconsciously hold your hands and try to not scratch. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Malcolm. 

“Wendy saw or felt when her skin would get dry and start to peel and view those as imperfections, making her pick and bite until she couldn’t anymore. She was trying to get rid of the mistakes.” You paused, trying to keep yourself in check. “And I’m _sure_ if you look at the inside of her cheeks, they’ll be bitten up too.”

You were going to try to explain the mirror set up in correlation to the phobia, but your hands started to shake as you thought about your struggle with anxiety. Malcolm could see that you were unsettled by something and took over, seeing how it all worked together.

“The killer set these mirrors up for the reason we said earlier: to make Wendy see herself. They manipulated her into seeing all of the lines or dots or blemishes or what have you, progressively making her more and more scared of herself. Knowing that this phobia stretches to the idea of not being good enough, the killer most likely pointed out examples of when she messed up. Even the _smallest_ of mistakes could set off Wendy’s spiral. They then gave her a choice to either live in fear and shame or to kill herself. And after exposing her to her phobia so intensely, she chose the gun.”

You just nodded as turned to walk out of the room, not making eye contact with anyone as you quietly said “I need to get some air.”

Gil turned to follow you and see if you were okay, but Malcolm was already on it as he put a hand up to Gil that said, “I got this.”

You found the exit to the alley behind the apartment building and found a spot against the wall to sit, close your eyes, and try to breathe. As soon as you sat down, you unknowingly start picking at the cuticles around your nails, old habits coming back. Your chest was tight and you couldn’t slow down the shirt, quick breaths that fled your panicked lungs.

You heard someone open the door a minute after you and thought nothing of it until you heard someone sit a respectable distance from you. You didn’t bother opening your eyes figuring it was Gil or Dani.

“Hey. If you don’t get your heart rate down, you’re going to pass out.” 

Your eyes shot open as you realized that Malcolm was the one that came to check on you. After a second, you realized that it made sense why he would come out to try and help. He has a better understanding of psychology than anyone on the team. All you could do was nod your head in understanding because you knew that you had to calm down, but it was just harder than expected. 

“Would it help to try to follow my breathing?” You nodded your head, which prompted Malcolm to sit a bit closer next to you against the wall, making his breaths more audible. Slowly but surely, your breathing started to even out. Malcolm reached to his side and produced a water bottle that he had gotten from his car. 

“Here. Take a couple small sips. Sorry it’s not cold, but it should still help.”

You did as he said and then started to fidget with the water bottle. It was better than picking more at your fingers. 

“So how long have you had dermatillomania?” Malcolm asked cautiously, scared that talking about it might make it worse.

“A majority of my life.” You sighed out.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Malcolm was watching you closely, looking for any signs that your anxiety would flare up again. You figured that he was curious and deserved to know how you came to the conclusion at the scene.

“When I was in college, I started seeing a therapist. We thought _I_ had atelophobia. But after a few sessions, we realized that it was a mix of GAD, depression, and ADHD. The dermatillomania is the way most of that energy comes out. It’s mostly in high anxiety situations or when my ADHD is really bad. You have your tremors, I have” you looked down at your hands and realized you had begun picking again and that your finger was now bleeding a little bit. Raising your hands up, you sighed in annoyance, “ _this bullshit_.”

You plopped your hands down in your lap and looked up at the sky, closing your eyes and taking another few frustrated deep breaths. 

“Thank you for telling me.”

Without opening your eyes or moving away, you responded. “Well, I figured if anyone on this team was going to understand and respect it, it would be you.” You both half chuckled before you returned your gaze to him. “Thank you for listening and for having my back up there.”

Malcolm waved his hand to dismiss the second part of your thanks and then remembered something. You looked as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a bandaid he had snagged from one of the medkits at the scene. He held out his hand as if to ask for yours. You gently gave it to him and he proceeded to bandage up the fingertip that you had been picking at. Once he finishes, making sure it’s not too tight or uncomfortable, he holds your hand for a little bit longer as he speaks his mind.

“I know how bad this job can get for people like us that have mental battles going on. And now that I know at least a little bit of what’s going on, I want you to know that you can come to me for help if you need it. If something in a case isn’t sitting right with you, or you need to go and grab a coffee for a distraction, or even just someone to find a bandaid for you, I’d be happy to lend a helping hand.” He ended with a true and contagious sympathetic smile that you don’t see very often on the face of Malcolm Bright.

“I really appreciate that. I will probably take you up on it.” He nods in contentment. “This offer _does_ go both ways though, Bright.” He looked at you with a slightly tilted head. “I know you have a lot going on in that mind of yours that I may not fully understand, but if there is ever anything I can do to try and make it a bit more pleasant, let me know.”

“Sounds like a deal, (Y/N).” He gives your hand a squeeze before letting go. The two of you sit there in silence, focusing on your breathing together for the next five or so minutes. Without warning, Malcolm stands up and extends his hands out to you with a smile. You give him a questioning look. 

“I could actually _really _go for some good distracting coffee right now, and I would like you to come with me and be equally distracting. If you want.”__

__You couldn’t help but smile back. There was something about this strange man that made you feel comfortable. And after dealing with your anxiety more than you had hoped for, you find yourself reaching for his hand._ _

__“That sounds like a fantastic idea.”_ _


End file.
